The Escape Artist
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: A young woman becomes her imaginary alter egos for a weekend. Follows 'All is Not Gold'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _This is a story that comes to some extent from my own life: I could be a feminine Walter Mitty, no question about it! This is for anyone who ever wanted, even for just a little while, to be bigger than real life. Thank you, Harry2, Terry L. Gardner, Bishop T and jtbwriter—your reviews and feedback are deeply appreciated. I hope you'll enjoy this one.

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_§ § § -- April 11, 1998

_She swept down the plane dock, graceful and happy, smiling at the natives who offered her leis and drinks. What a beautiful island this was! She reached out and daintily plucked a glass off a proffered tray…_

…only to promptly spill half of it at her feet. Some splashed onto her shoes, and she heaved a resigned sigh while the native girls tittered behind their hands. She shrugged, her face already burning, and took a sip of the remainder. Drat, and it really tasted good, too. Trust her to waste something so delicious. She made a determined effort to concentrate on her real-life surroundings instead of dropping back into another daydream.

She stepped with exaggerated care off the landing ramp and onto the lush green grass of the clearing, tightly clutching the stem of the glass while watching the band as they played, the colorful parrots that sat on their perches preening their feathers, and the white-suited man with the woman in the white dress. Her gaze lingered longest on these two. If he could do what everyone said he could, then just once she was going to be everything she had always wished she really were.

The man finished speaking to the woman and raised a champagne flute at her and the two middle-aged men who had disembarked just in front of her. "My dear guests," he called loudly enough for them to hear, "I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!"

She grinned hopefully and lifted her glass in response, only to feel something land on her shoulder. Slowly she turned to see what it was and groaned aloud. The parrot behind her had decided to adorn her brand-new blazer with a smelly little calling card. _I knew I shouldn't have stood so darn close._ She shook her head with self-disgust and hid as much of her face as she could behind the wide-mouthed glass; but something perverse in her sneaked a peek at her white-garbed hosts, and she realized instantly that they had both seen what had happened. The woman looked sympathetic; the man simply smiled as if nothing had happened. Too bad he wasn't right…

To her immense relief, the band shortly wound up its welcoming song and two of the native girls gathered around her to show her to her bungalow. They too noticed the parrot's little deposit, but merely looked at each other and pretended to ignore it. "This way," one of them said, and she hefted up her suitcase and trailed the natives to a waiting jeep that took her to a very pretty little cottage. Out front was a sign that proclaimed this was the Hibiscus Bungalow; its namesake flowers adorned the porch posts and railings.

The native girls opened the door for her and escorted her inside. "Mr. Roarke will see you at the main house in one hour," one said.

"Don't be late," the other cautioned genially. "He doesn't like that." Wordlessly she nodded, and the native girls giggled and departed.

_Whew. Now I can finally try to get this…stuff off my shoulder._ She spent twenty minutes in the bathroom scrubbing her shoulder, and managed to remove all traces of the offending matter, leaving just a wet spot on her blazer. She then unearthed her hair dryer and spent fifteen more minutes aiming it at the wet spot in an attempt to make it fade. Both her hosts had looked immaculate; she hated to go in feeling like a slob. By the time she was satisfied with the results, she had five minutes to get to the main house, and had to run all the way there—during which time, of course, her hair slipped out of its carefully crafted bun. She clattered onto the porch out of breath and with her damnably frizzy hair all over the place. Stomping her foot in exasperation, she clumsily gathered the mess back into the barrette she habitually carried in her pocket and finally went to knock on the door.

A moment later it opened to reveal the woman she had seen at the plane dock. "Hi, I'm Leslie Hamilton. You must be Annie Johnston."

Annie nodded sheepishly, still fidgeting with her wayward hair. "Yup, that's me. I hope I'm not late. I was warned not to be."

Leslie looked taken aback. "Who told you that? Never mind…come on in." She stepped aside and ushered Annie in ahead of her. "I'm sorry about that silly parrot, by the way. I told Father we should get a different bird—that one's always trying to relieve itself on people's heads or something." She grinned apologetically, and Annie felt herself relaxing for the first time.

"That's okay," Annie said, trying to downplay the problem the way she did so many others. "I got it cleaned off." She paused at the foot of the foyer steps and gazed in awe around the room. "Wow, what a beautiful room! The outside is gorgeous too…actually, I haven't seen anything yet that _isn't_ gorgeous."

Leslie laughed. "Thank you! Why don't you sit down? Father should be back in a few minutes. Can I get you anything?"

"Oh, I'm fine for now, but thanks," Annie said, lowering herself gingerly into one of the elegant leather chairs that sat at angles in front of the dignified desk. "Holy cow. This place kind of looks like my father's library." _The one that's off-limits to everybody but his crummy cigar-smoking billiards club._ "Except it's not so stuffy-looking."

Leslie laughed again, but before she could respond, a door opened somewhere in the room and Annie twisted in her seat. Roarke was just emerging from a small room at the foot of the dark, highly polished wooden stairs leading to the second floor, and he smiled a welcome as soon as he spotted her. "Miss Johnston…thank you for coming."

Annie smiled and shrugged, unsure how to respond to that. She watched Roarke cross the room toward the desk, while Leslie settled herself in the other chair, and after he had sat down, he turned his full attention to her, making her look shyly away.

"So," said Roarke, and she looked back almost as if compelled. His smile was warm. "Miss Annie Johnston, from Silver Spring, Maryland…age twenty-five."

"Almost 26," Annie put in, then immediately bit her lip. "Sorry to interrupt."

"Not at all," Roarke said. "I trust your trip here was without event?"

Annie nodded bashfully. "It was really long, but nothing terrible happened."

Roarke chuckled. "Good." He settled back in his chair and regarded her with interest. "You have a most intriguing fantasy, Miss Johnston. I should like very much to know how you came to request it."

Annie flicked a faintly abashed glance at Leslie, whose face mirrored her father's curious expression, then half-smiled and looked down at her hands, which lay in her lap plucking at the bottom button on the blazer. "It's probably kind of stupid, really. I mean, after all, I ought to have outgrown staring out the window and woolgathering. All the way through school my teachers would catch me doing it. But…well, I just had to try this."

"So tell us," Leslie urged, leaning forward a little in her chair.

"It's a long boring story," Annie warned.

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other. "Perhaps to you," Roarke said, "but it can be helpful to know the background details of a fantasy. Due to the nature of this one, I must admit to a raging curiosity."

Annie stared at him in surprise. It looked as if he really wanted to know; in her long experience, this was just about unprecedented. She gave Leslie another sheepish look and joked, "Okay, well, you asked for it." This met with chuckles from her hosts, and she plunged in, encouraged. "I'm the youngest of three kids, you see…and I'm the misfit in a family of overachievers. My dad is the richest man in two counties, and Mom's the head of almost every charity in sight. My brother's running for governor of Maryland, and he's practically a shoo-in. And my sister graduated _summa cum laude_ from Johns Hopkins, and she's well on her way to becoming a brain surgeon. Couple more years and she'll be done interning.

"But me…well, I faint at the sight of blood, and I see politics as a guaranteed cure for insomnia. I had to go to my father to get a job…I'm a lowly secretary for an aging executive in Dad's company, one who's due to retire soon. I don't seem to have an outstanding talent, Mr. Roarke." Her gaze pleaded for understanding. "Believe me, I've looked for something I'm good at just about all my life. I had piano and violin lessons, and I constantly massacred both. My singing voice could break eardrums. I'm such a klutz, when Mom signed me up for dance lessons, my teacher rejected me after the first class. I signed up for drama class in high school and found out I can't act. Every time I had a creative writing assignment in English classes, I flunked it. I'm scared of people, too—I never know what to say, and I always get so tongue-tied that I just keep my mouth shut altogether. I'm awful at math, science confuses me, and I never understood the analysis questions in my literature classes. I used to go on annual skiing trips to St. Moritz with my family, but I couldn't ski to save my life, and I was always sitting around our chalet trying to understand Swiss television shows. When I got old enough, they started leaving me behind." Annie caught herself and looked helplessly at Roarke and then Leslie. "Let's put it this way—I'm a walking disaster. Nothing I do ever comes out right."

"I see," said Roarke, his tone quizzical, indicating she should continue.

"Well, I saw all this accomplishment and effortless perfection around me all the time, and I saw I didn't measure up…and I started daydreaming that I _did."_ She could hardly bear to look at her hosts now, in case they laughed at her. "In my dreams, I'm witty, sophisticated, graceful, poised, talented, attractive, charming and…well, interesting. In short, I'm everything that, in real life, I'm not and have no hope of being."

"Ah," Roarke said with comprehension. "Have you ever read a story called _The Secret Life of Walter Mitty_, Miss Johnston?"

Excited, Annie looked up and brightened, nodding vigorously. "It's my favorite story of all time! I'm telling you, Mr. Roarke, if Walter Mitty had had a sister, I'd be her."

Roarke nodded, smiling. "So, since you identify so closely with the protagonist in that story, you thought perhaps it would be possible to carry it one step further and, whenever you feel inadequate, have the ability to call up one of your daydreams and make it reality."

"Exactly," Annie exclaimed, beside herself with relief and delight to at last find someone who actually understood her. "Can I really do that, Mr. Roarke?"

"Yes," Roarke said slowly, smile fading somewhat. Instantly a thread of alarm snaked through Annie, making her stomach roll over. "Before we continue, however, I must caution you: there is great potential for disappointment, at the very least, in a fantasy such as yours. Do you believe you will be able to relinquish the ability to make those daydreams come true when the weekend comes to a close and your fantasy is over?"

Annie sat up frantically. "Mr. Roarke, do you know how much I've counted on this?" she pleaded. "This may sound crazy to you, but I thought maybe, if I came here and had the chance to take on some of the personalities from my daydreams, I might finally stumble over something I'm actually good at. And besides, if I don't do this, I'll spend my whole life wishing I'd done it, that I'd taken the chance just once in my life and done something wild and spontaneous and completely out of character."

"A fantasy can't change your basic personality, Miss Johnston," Roarke warned her, in the kindliest tone possible. "In the end, if you wish to be different, you must implement the change from within your true self."

"But this could be a stepping stone to finding out how I might be able to change," Annie begged, turning then to Leslie, whose eyes gleamed with empathy. "You know what I mean, don't you, Leslie? If I get the chance to try on different personae, it's possible I could discover some talent I never knew I had, and I can capitalize on it."

Leslie nodded, and Annie could see she grasped the point she was trying to get across. "That's a great idea, Annie, really. I guess what Father means is that you might become a little too dependent on those imaginary personae, and not only would you be right back where you started, but you might be very unhappy with the outcome."

"But nobody could ever say I didn't try," Annie persisted. "Please, Mr. Roarke, please. I really want to do this, and there's just no other way. _Please."_

Roarke looked at Leslie, who said, "I realize the final decision is yours, Father, but in my opinion, there are more pros than cons to this one."

Roarke thought about this for a moment or two while Annie hung literally on the edge of her seat, clutching the chair arms so hard that her hands were beginning to ache. At last Roarke focused on her and smiled assent. "Very well, Miss Johnston, you shall have your fantasy. Leslie?"

Leslie got up and went to the credenza while Annie watched avidly. She pulled open a drawer, lifted out a small, light-blue velvet-covered box, and brought it back to Roarke, who opened it and displayed the contents at Annie. "This choker will afford you the ability to become whoever you dream of being at any given moment. Once you put it on, you cannot take it off for the duration of your fantasy. Do you understand?"

Annie nodded, wide eyes fixed on the choker. It was a black velvet ribbon that had a large egg-shaped blue opal affixed in the middle; the opal glittered and gleamed with fiery red highlights that seemed to take on an extra glow even as she stared at the gem. "It's really beautiful, Mr. Roarke," she breathed.

Roarke smiled and glanced at Leslie; she extracted the choker from its box and came to Annie, affixing it around her neck. For Annie, who rarely wore jewelry, its presence was unfamiliar but exciting. "From now on, whenever you dream of becoming someone outside your normal, everyday self, you need only think of who you wish to be, and the attributes you wish to have at that moment…and you'll become that person."

Annie jumped out of her chair, fondling the choker tentatively, beaming at them. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so excited, so full of happy anticipation. "Thank you, Mr. Roarke, thanks a billion…and you too, Leslie." They smiled and nodded at her, and she giggled joyously. "Walter Mitty, eat your heart out," she said whimsically, and skipped out of the house with the sound of her hosts' laughter floating behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- April 11, 1998

"I am really, really sorry," said Devin Reilley in abject apology, rising from the table and turning his hands palms up at the remaining fans who waited in line. "I hate to do it, folks, but I gotta call it quits for the day. My wife's waiting for me, and we're still on our honeymoon." He winked suggestively at Annie, who had been the very next person in line, then chuckled, waved at everyone and vanished into the tent. Groans and shouts of protest rose up, but a woman who looked quite a bit like the movie star stepped out and held up her hands, quieting the crowd for a moment.

"Sorry, folks, but we do have a schedule. _Beneath a Tropical Moon_ is almost done, and we're trying to stick to the original timetable so we can pack up and get ourselves out of Mr. Roarke's way by the date we said we would. Thanks for coming, everyone." She ducked back into the tent, and in spite of the outraged uproar that followed, no one else came out.

Annie stared in disbelief. He knew there were dozens of fans still waiting in line, yet he brazenly stopped right in front of them and disappeared! _If I were a famous movie star, I'd never, ever leave anyone hanging like that,_ she thought indignantly. _I'd sign my name for everyone who came, no matter how bad my writer's cramp got._ She smiled slightly, sliding into a daydream out of long-standing habit. She was unaware of the opal at her throat, its crimson veins glowing brightly as the daydream took hold.

"_Oh, don't worry, I'll be here till the bitter end," Andrea LaMorada laughed merrily, accepting a pen and an autograph album from an excited teenage girl and writing her name with a flourish across the first blank page. The teenager beamed and stepped aside, admiring the signature in her book, while Andrea…_

Andrea? She peered down at herself and realized she was wearing a pristine yellow sundress complete with matching straw hat; she was seated at a table, and there was a long line of hopeful-looking people of all ages standing in front of her, holding autograph books, photos, magazines with her picture on the cover, all kinds of things. _Whoa…I really_ am _Andrea LaMorada! Ohmigod, this thing actually works!_ She fingered the choker, then giggled deliriously and turned to the next person in line. "And who would you like me to sign this to?" she asked cheerfully.

"Make it to Bill, Miss LaMorada, and thanks so much. This is really terrific…I've seen every movie you've ever made, and I think you're the best. You're a cinch the next time they nominate for Oscars. You gotta be." Andrea signed as indicated, beaming at him.

"You're very kind," she said graciously. "Thank you for being here, Bill."

And she kept her promise too, signing for all comers, till at last she had written her name for the final time and her right hand ached like the devil. "What nice people," she murmured to her publicist, who smiled wearily.

"Yeah, well, just watch out, Miss LaMorada, they might come back to haunt you. I'd be especially careful of that man who asked you to write that you loved him and were eternally grateful for his being your fan," he said. "What was his name, do you remember?"

Andrea thought for a moment. "I think it was Randall," she said. "Oh, come on, don't worry. Do you see anyone lurking around here?"

"_There's not a soul in sight," the publicist said…_and Annie looked around and realized he was right. She was suddenly back on the beach, beside the big tent, completely alone. No, not quite completely. There were two island cops standing guard beside the tent entrance, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Sorry, I must've gotten lost," Annie mumbled and sidled away, trying to look casual. As soon as she was out of their sight, she burst into a run. Despite her embarrassment, though, she was on an emotional high. What an experience that had been!

After awhile she slowed and found herself wandering a jungle path which eventually spilled her out onto a vast greensward, where dozens of people were playing games, having picnics, strolling, sunbathing, or just hanging around talking. Many of them, Annie noticed, were couples. Having never had a boyfriend in her entire life, she felt the old stab of envy coming on. Her frizzy, dishwater-blonde hair, her colorless gray eyes, her too-fair skin that burned at the mere utterance of the word "sunshine", those twenty or so extra pounds, all combined to make her stunningly ordinary. She faded so easily into the background that at times she felt like a ghost. _Now if I had shining, silky-smooth golden hair, and eyes the same blue as the Caribbean Sea, and a nice even tan, and a little less cellulite…that'd make the men take a second look. Yeah…_ The fiery facets in the opal glowed once more…

…and there stood beautiful, golden-haired, blue-eyed, model-slim Anne-Marie Johansen, watching people with interest as she meandered aimlessly along the manicured green grass. Here and there, young men—and good-looking ones at that!—began to do double takes, and before she knew it she was flanked by a small group of six or seven guys, all of them asking her name and what she was doing that evening. Anne-Marie laughed a bright, tinkling laugh that sounded like wind chimes on the breeze. "You're all such nice men," she remarked in a low, breathy voice that sounded utterly unlike her. "But you know…this fella here was the first one to ask." She gave the sandy-haired man on her right a full-wattage smile that made him blink and then grin stupidly with triumph. "What's your name?"

"Greg," he said. "How about we just stay in…say at your bungalow this evening?"

Anne-Marie smiled demurely and dipped her head once in assent. "I look forward to it…Greg," she purred, and the guy grinned broadly, pumped one victorious fist, then brazenly planted a smacking kiss on her lips. The other men wandered away, looking for easier conquests; among them, unnoticed by Anne-Marie—or anyone else, for that matter—was a marginally good-looking, bespectacled black-haired man who frowned a little uneasily, shook his head and decided he might be better off coming back later.

Greg smiled meaningfully at Anne-Marie. "There's more where that came from…lots more," he promised. "See ya tonight, sweetheart." He departed, and Anne-Marie chuckled softly. _She was going to have him eating out of…_

…probably a very large plate. Annie blinked and realized she was standing all by herself once more, watching Greg swagger away, flush with the certainty that he was going to have a very good time that night. "Uh-oh," Annie mumbled to herself. "What've I done now? I wonder if I can turn myself back into Anne-Marie before he shows up…" She hoped so, because even to an innocent such as herself, it was patently obvious what Greg wanted. Otherwise, all they'd be doing was eating dinner, and she'd undoubtedly be adding to those twenty pounds she'd temporarily banished.

On her way back to her bungalow, she thought the situation over and finally came to the conclusion that she would just have to rely on Anne-Marie—and the choker's ability to transform her into Anne-Marie—to get through the evening. One thought kept trying to break through, but Annie kept shying away from the fact that even Anne-Marie might not be able to keep her cool when Greg decided he wanted to sample more than just the lips he'd kissed a couple of minutes ago.

"You present the appearance of a lady with a problem," observed Roarke, bringing Annie out of her uneasy ruminations with a thud that should have been audible. She stopped so abruptly that she nearly tripped over her own forward momentum.

"Hi, Mr. Roarke," Annie said. "I don't know if I have a problem yet, actually. I mean…I guess it _could_ be a problem, but I won't know till tonight."

Roarke eyed her, looking slightly confused, but nodded once or twice, slowly. "Perhaps you are merely borrowing trouble, Miss Johnston. If you decide the situation—whatever it is—has the potential to become a problem, then it very likely will."

Annie pondered that, then nodded. "So if I decide it won't be a problem, then it won't. Is that what you mean?"

Roarke smiled. "Something like that. Otherwise, how goes the fantasy?"

"It's been really fun," Annie said, her enthusiasm blooming anew. "So far I've been a movie star who kept her promise to give her autograph to everybody, and I've been a very pretty lady who got a date for this evening. I'm thinking of taking a swim or something, maybe giving the choker a rest."

That made Roarke laugh. "That's probably very wise, Miss Johnston. If you make too much use of its powers, you may unwittingly get yourself into a very dangerous situation. Besides, there is much to be said for being yourself." He smiled and nodded. "Please excuse me." Annie smiled back, and Roarke departed, while she stood watching him go.

Being herself, however, held no appeal at all for Annie, so she wound up renting a horse and taking a ride in as isolated an area as she could just to keep from meeting up with more than the absolute minimum number of people. She wasn't the slightest bit graceful on horseback, but she could at least ride with some competence; so she soon relaxed and began to enjoy the lush tropical greenery. She spent most of the early afternoon constantly stopping to admire this or that flower; most were unique to her and, she surmised, probably to the world too. Maybe she could ask for some seeds or cuttings, she thought, and try to grow her own specimens in her father's greenhouse. Wait a minute—that was out. The memory came back to Annie with a rush of embarrassment. Back in fourth grade her science class had received an assignment to grow a flower—any flower—from seed to maturity. The more exotic and difficult to grow, the higher the grade. Annie had spent weeks trying to grow marigolds, sunflowers, pansies, tulips and daffodils, before a frantic descent to buttercups, violets and daisies. Everything had died within days…everything except a common weed. The entire class had roared with laughter at Annie's little pot of dandelions. To this day the memory made her face burn. _Just once in my life, if I could only have a green thumb! Well, maybe I'll ask for some seeds anyway. There are books I could read, aren't there? Maybe I could try growing daffodils again—I always loved them._ She started humming to herself as her horse plodded serenely along the path.

By the time she returned the horse and headed for the bungalow, it was late in the day and she was feeling vaguely optimistic about her chances of growing flowers. It would be nice to decorate her apartment with a few window boxes. Before the choker could turn her into Mary Quite Contrary, however, she bumped headlong into someone, and they both went down with loud "oof!" noises. Instantly Annie turned brilliant crimson again, noting that she had collided with a startled-looking black-haired man who wore glasses and was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt that said, OFFICIAL FANTASY ISLAND SOUVENIR.

"I'm so sorry," Annie moaned. "I'm such a klutz…I hope you're not hurt."

"No…not much, anyway. My butt might be sore for awhile. How about you? Are you okay, miss?" the man asked anxiously, surveying her and then going from solicitous to puzzled. "Aren't you roasting in that blazer and skirt?"

That was when it dawned on Annie that she had never changed from the outfit she had worn on the charter plane from Honolulu early that morning. She winced so hard that the man said, "Oh, I'm sorry…I don't mean to sound insulting, but…"

"No, it's just stupid old me," Annie mumbled, biting her lip. Hesitantly she peered up at the man, amazed that he hadn't jumped up and run off yet. "I just forgot to change."

He chuckled. "I guess that's understandable. This place makes you want to get out there and start enjoying it right away." She grinned shyly at his laugh and reached out to shake his extended hand. "My name's Randall Heidema."

"Hi, I'm Annie," she said softly. Before she could even think to add her surname, a voice called Randall's name somewhere in the near distance, and he sat up in alarm.

"Cripes, I better move it if I don't want Aunt Beryl to catch up with me," he said and scrambled to his feet. "Hey, maybe I'll see you at the luau tonight, huh? Sorry about that…" And he pounded off down the lane, making Annie wonder what was so terrible about Aunt Beryl that Randall Heidema felt the urgent need to get away, before she got up and resumed her trek to her bungalow, dusting herself off along the way.

At her bungalow she showered and changed clothes, choosing a pretty pink sundress and wrapping a tennis bracelet around one wrist. The choker seemed to clash with the outfit; but Roarke's words were branded into her brain, and she wouldn't have taken it off for the world. She knew there would be a luau that evening and was eager to find out what it was like; this was the first time she had ever left the East Coast, and she was determined to get the full experience. She stuck her feet into her sandals and wandered out to the main room, picking up the ten-page brochure that provided all the details on the various attractions on the island and leafing idly through it. One item stopped her and she read it more carefully. Karaoke? Some of the girls at work talked about it from time to time, and she had always wondered what it would be like to throw your singing voice out there for the whole world to be impressed with. Or, in her case, to be nauseated by. Annie smiled wryly. There was no way she'd ever get up and sing, but it would be fun to watch and listen to others who had more nerve than she did. The karaoke contest was to be held 90 minutes before the luau got under way, in the same clearing. Annie checked her watch and decided to leave right then and there to get a good seat.

She found a chair in the second row and settled down, watching people come in and take seats, talking earnestly. Soon the chairs were all full and people were standing on the sidelines. After a bit a handsome native man who made Annie stare in appreciation came out onto the small raised platform that served as a stage, fiddled with the large, expensive-looking karaoke machine set up to one side, then tapped the microphone. The audience quieted with surprising speed.

"Good evening, and welcome to the weekly Fantasy Island karaoke contest. There's no formality here. If you want to sing, just jump up and volunteer. Hope you all enjoy it!" He stepped back, and immediately a rather drunk-looking young man stumbled onstage and announced that he was going to sing "Stairway to Heaven." Laughter erupted out of quite a few folks, and Annie rolled her eyes to herself. This was clearly a college kid taking a dare. Only a verse and a half into the song, the audience playfully booed him off the stage, and he took it surprisingly well, executing a huge comic bow and then trotting aside for the next contestant. There were, in fact, a surprisingly large number of would-be singers.

As she watched, in spite of herself she started wondering what it would be like to be up there singing—and to sound good while she was at it. _"And now, singing 'The Power of Love', here's Annalyn!" The announcer moved back from the microphone…_

…and Annalyn launched into one of her very favorite songs, gentle and tentative at first, but then really getting into it when she saw some people exchanging impressed looks in the front rows. _Oh wow!_ she marveled as she sang. _For once I have a decent singing voice…imagine that!_ Heartened by her own talent—however fleeting—Annalyn sang for all she was worth, letting down her guard and belting out the song the way she often did in the car where no one else could hear her. When the song had drifted off into its dreamy ending, the audience broke into loud applause, cheering, whistling and even stomping their feet. Annalyn smiled and took a couple of quick little bows, then slipped off the stage. She missed seeing Roarke and Leslie, who had decided to come a little early and catch the end of the contest. They looked at each other thoughtfully, but neither said anything.

"Thank you, Annalyn!" said the native man acting as emcee, his gaze lingering on her for another moment before he pulled himself together and cleared his throat into the microphone. Leslie grinned to herself. "Now it's time to award the one-hundred-dollar prize for the best singer. Will our judges please make their decision now?"

Leslie noticed Annalyn standing with several others near the stage, and turned to look curiously at Roarke. "Seems to me this particular daydream has some staying power."

"Of course," Roarke replied, deadpan. "She has yet to find out if she will win."

"It's her daydream," Leslie pointed out. "Is there any doubt she will?" Roarke laughed softly and nodded agreement, and they looked on while one of the judges handed the emcee an envelope. The emcee ripped it open and grinned broadly.

"It was unanimous, ladies and gentlemen…the winner is Annalyn!" Loud applause broke out and the emcee reached over and played a noisy fanfare on the karaoke machine. Annalyn, grinning a little foolishly, stepped onto the stage and accepted a check, looking at it in wonder. Not that she really needed it; she'd probably cash it and spend it on souvenirs. _She raised a hand and waved at the audience, then turned to step down…_

…and tripped over the edge, barely catching herself before she landed flat on her face. Laughter welled up and Annie scuttled into the trees, mortified. Of all the stupid times for the daydream to suddenly lose hold on reality! She rubbed the opal on the choker, wondering just how much control she really had over the thing. It might not be a bad idea to talk to Roarke about that. Oh well…at least she'd actually won the karaoke contest and earned a quick hundred dollars. Maybe she'd cave in and buy her parents and siblings souvenirs of her trip…_and then again, maybe not,_ she thought, reconsidering. They didn't even know she was here, and she didn't want them to know. Some things were best kept private.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- April 11, 1998

"Uh, excuse me…Leslie?" Leslie stopped just inside the entrance to the nightclub, located in town and only recently opened, and looked around for the source of the voice. It was a man perhaps a little younger than her nearly 33 years, with black hair and glasses, wearing one of those silly souvenir T-shirts that always made her snicker whenever she saw one. She recognized him almost instantly.

"Hi, Mr. Heidema, how're things with Aunt Beryl?" Leslie asked cheerfully. She still found the whole thing rather hilarious, though she sympathized with the fellow.

Randall Heidema winced. "No different. I keep trying to tell her I'm not—" Something apparently caught his eye and he stopped in the middle of his sentence to stare. Leslie followed his gaze, wondering what had so thoroughly snared his attention, only to find herself watching a very lithe blonde dancing sensuously on the nightclub stage.

"Oh my goodness," Leslie mumbled to herself. Even from here she could see the red veins in the choker's opal gleaming brightly in the nightclub's low lighting. That had to be quite some daydream, she reflected, remembering Annie Johnston's remark that she'd been thrown out of her first and only dance class.

"I met her," Randall Heidema said dazedly from beside Leslie, who turned to look at him in surprise. "She sure didn't look like that then…"

"Ladies and gentlemen, the fabulous Angelique!" a voice boomed off the club walls, and loud applause, punctuated by piercing wolf whistles, welled up. "Fantasy Island has never seen a dancer like her! What a talent!"

"What a daydream," Leslie murmured, too low for Randall to hear. That choker was really getting a workout! To her companion she said, "You met her? When?"

"We kinda ran into each other," he said with a little grin. "She seemed sort of shy and quiet, y'know? I was going to ask her to come to the luau with me, but I heard Aunt Beryl call me, and I had to get away quick." Leslie let out a soft huff of amusement before his grin faded and he trained a dubious eye on Angelique. "But she's…different, somehow, every time I see her. I mean…what is she, some sort of chameleon or something?"

At a loss as to how to answer this, Leslie stared at him with her mouth open as if to speak. Fortuitously, someone called out her name and she again wheeled around to find the owner of the voice. "I'm sorry, I think duty calls. Excuse me." She gave him an apologetic, but relieved, smile and plowed through the throngs to check out the problem.

Randall sighed gently and let his attention wander back to Angelique. He knew she was the same frizzy-haired blonde he'd collided with before, but he didn't understand why she kept trying to change herself so thoroughly. _Maybe she's one of those multiple-personality types,_ he thought uneasily. _She must've sneaked away from her family and gone off her medication, and now here she is playing every strange role that pops into her head. I don't know…Leslie didn't seem willing to explain it, and I bet Mr. Roarke won't either. But if she really is a multiple personality, then why would they hide it?_ This question confounded him to the point that he gave up and decided he might as well hit the casino. The way Aunt Beryl felt about gambling, she'd never come within a hundred feet of the place, so he ought to be safe there. But on his way out, he couldn't keep from casting one last glance over his shoulder at Angelique.

On stage, Angelique was getting quite a charge out of the amazingly supple movements she was making. It actually felt good to let her hair down for a change and be an entirely different person; there were a lot of admiring men in the audience, although she'd noticed some pretty dirty looks from some of the women in attendance. Well, it wasn't as if she was going to be this way forever. She lost herself in the fantasy and danced till the music faded into thunderous cheering. With a languid smile, she departed the stage.

"You're asking for trouble, lady, dancing like that," snapped a pretty young woman in the front row. "And I'll come give it to you if you don't watch out."

Angelique eyed her. "Hey, the stage is free if you want to get up there and impress your guy, honey," she drawled, letting her eyebrows pop up meaningfully for a second before lowering them again and strolling towards the ladies' room. _What she needed was…_

…a slap upside the head! Inside a stall, Annie wilted against the closed door and stared unseeingly at the wall across from her, astonished not just at her own boldness with all that dancing, but at the fact that she'd actually thought of a snappy comeback for that woman who'd heckled her. Despite her own amazement at this, the most uninhibited yet of all the personalities she'd dreamed up, she was filled with a heady sense of accomplishment, as if she'd managed to set herself free, even just for a little while. No one was around to give her the slap that might have restored her senses, so she settled for splashing her face with water at a sink, patting herself dry and slinking out of the nightclub unheeded.

The gentle breeze helped cool her down as she headed back to her bungalow, and she was looking forward to a good night's sleep. But a mere five minutes after she'd arrived and changed into her comfy old sleep shirt, there was a knock on the door, and a man's voice called, "Anne-Marie? I brought some goodies!"

Annie froze and her eyes popped wide with shock. It was Greg! She thought about ignoring him, but the knocking came again and she knew it wouldn't work, since she had turned on some lamps and they were visible from outside. And in the end, she just didn't have the guts to do that to the poor guy. She drew in a few deep breaths and called up the image of the bronzed blonde goddess she'd imagined into existence earlier that day. _Anne-Marie will know exactly how to handle good old Greg. We'll just have some champagne and talk awhile, and then… _Once more the opal gleamed red fire.

…Cautiously she opened her eyes and noticed she was now clad in a red satin teddy. She smiled, a little nervous in spite of everything, and sashayed out to the main room, where she finally answered the door. "Hello, Greg," she purred.

His smile threatened to split his lower jaw right off his face. "Hiya, gorgeous," he said and stepped in, brushing up against her as he did so. "I brought champagne…best I could afford. Hey, nice digs you got here."

"Of course," Anne-Marie murmured, following him into the main room several paces behind. "Shall we order dinner?"

"Nah, I'm not hungry. Not for food, anyway." Greg leered at her, and she sighed and stopped where she was.

"We only just met," Anne-Marie informed him. She could hear Annie's primness in her voice. "I like to know something about the men I meet."

Greg actually rolled his eyes. "Aw, baby, c'mon. This wasn't meant to be a marriage proposal, just a nice little get-together, one on one. Who needs names for that?"

"I do," Anne-Marie said, gathering herself together as best she could. "After all, how would you know whose name to call out at a strategic moment?"

Greg considered that, then grinned. "Ya know, babe, you got a point there," he said. "Thing is, we already know each other's names. What more do we need?" He put down the champagne bottle, pulled her into his arms and kissed her. _Anne-Marie relaxed, surprised to find that it felt quite nice. She could get used to this…_

…then the kiss turned into something Annie was nowhere near ready for, and the daydream crumbled to ashes as she began to struggle in his arms. Greg released her and stepped back, then gawked at her in disbelief. Annie could see all sorts of emotions in his face: shock, annoyance, even fear. His jaw worked back and forth for a moment before he found his voice and croaked, "You sure as hell aren't Anne-Marie!"

"No, I'm not," Annie managed, even more frightened of him than he was of her inexplicable transformation. "Don't hurt me, okay? Please?" Already she was backing towards the bedroom, too scared to think clearly.

"Lady, I don't even want to touch you!" Greg blurted and fled the bungalow, leaving the door wide open behind him. Annie watched, breathing heavily from fright. As soon as he was gone she ran for the door and slammed it, locking it carefully and then sliding down it till she landed on the floor, wide-eyed and panting. "No more Anne-Marie," she decided. "The sort of men she attracts are just too much for mousy little Annie Johnston to deal with." She swallowed and concentrated on getting her breath back.

Eventually she calmed down enough to notice that Greg had left his champagne bottle sitting on the coffee table. "Well, would you look at that," Annie said to herself and began to giggle. She sat on the floor and laughed till she cried, then finally picked herself up and ventured cautiously onto the little front porch. Her gaze drifted upward and she soaked in the night, admiring the stars and listening to the strange mournful bird call that she had never heard before—a triple rising two-part note, then two falling laments and a final shuddering moan. It was melancholy, but pretty to hear, and she stood for some time taking it in. A shooting star flashed across the black sky and she gasped softly, enchanted.

"Pretty night, huh?" asked someone then, and she jumped a foot, grabbing the railing. Once she'd registered the identity of the newcomer, she sagged with relief. It was just Randall, the guy she'd crashed into that afternoon.

"Yeah," she said, grinning foolishly.

"Sorry to scare you like that," said Randall, sounding more puzzled than anything else, edging closer to the porch steps. "You okay?"

Annie nodded quickly. "I'm just fine," she said, wishing she had enough presence of mind to make halfway intelligent conversation. _Snappy repartee would flow instantly to mind and there'd be a delightful discourse on all sorts of things… _ The opal glowed gently in the darkness.

…"So tell me, Randall, where do you come from?" Annette asked curiously. "I'm from Silver Spring, Maryland, myself. It's a nice place, but I kind of needed a change of pace."

Randall chuckled. "I can imagine that. I needed the same thing. I'm from Mundelein, Illinois…came here with my Aunt Beryl, actually."

"Oh, how thoughtful of you to bring your aunt with you!" Annette exclaimed. "What a sweet thing to do. She must be thrilled at being able to come here with you."

Randall shrugged and said, "I don't know. She's been chasing me practically all over the island ever since we got here. I keep having to run away from her."

"My gosh, what for?" Annette asked.

"Aw, she thinks I need a romance," Randall said uncomfortably, rolling his eyes. "If I really wanted a romance, I could easily find one on my own. And it wouldn't be very hard on this island. Matter of fact, I've already found a very interesting candidate." He gave Annette a particular smile that warmed her from head to foot. "But Aunt Beryl has something else in mind, and I can't make her understand."

Annette peered at him wonderingly. "Really? Well, I'm sure she means well. I have a sweet old great-aunt who sends me the cutest dolls for my birthday every year. It'd be nice, but they're not collectibles—they're baby dolls. She's about 92 and as far as I can tell, she thinks I'm still seven years old." Randall's chuckle died too quickly in the face of her bright, hearty laugh. "But that's a minor thing, compared to having someone meddling in your love life, I'm sure. There are times when I almost wish someone would meddle in mine, just in case they find a nice guy I might have overlooked somehow…but then, well, I met you, and you're the nicest guy I've met here so far. Say, Randall, I've got some champagne inside. Do you think you'd like a glass? We could sit out here and watch the stars and listen to that poor bird, and just chat."

Randall, looking intimidated, backpedaled several steps when she mentioned the champagne. "Oh, wow, uh…I think I'll pass…but thanks anyway."

"It was nice talking with you. I hope we'll see each other tomorrow," Annette called after him. _"Well…good night…I guess I'll…"_

"…shut my big fat mouth now," Annie muttered, disgusted, watching Randall break into a jog and be swallowed by the night. "Geez, what was all that? All I wanted to do was make some coherent conversation, and I turn into freaking Chatty Cathy…or in my case, Annunciating Annette!" Exasperated, she threw her hands into the air. "With my luck, once I fall asleep I'll dream I'm some kind of stripper or something and wake up in some seedy bar, taking off my clothes for a bunch of boozed-up losers." Grumpily she retreated into the bungalow, put the champagne bottle into the little refrigerator that sat beside the sofa, turned out the lights and went to bed, trying to battle the uneasy feeling that her fantasy was beginning to get in the way of the nearest thing she'd ever had to a love life.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- April 12, 1998

Annie was frankly a bit surprised the next morning to find that she had awakened safely in the bed where she'd drifted off to sleep the previous night, but very relieved. Well, they did say that things looked brighter in the morning, and it was a pleasant surprise to find it was true. After a good night's sleep, she felt ready to take on a new day. To that end, she got right up, took a quick shower, clipped her wet hair into the ever-present barrette and put on a swimsuit under a tank top and shorts. Stepping into her flip-flops, she left the bungalow and took a leisurely walk to the beach.

At this time of day it was quiet; there weren't many people out here now, just a man walking two dogs and a young family taking an early-morning swim. Annie took off her flip-flops and swung them carelessly in one hand, meandering aimlessly in the sand, now and then spotting an especially pretty seashell and picking it up to admire it. The sun sparkled off the water, and gulls screeched overhead, wheeling through the morning air and swooping down to the sand at times in search of some tasty tidbit.

Then some of the screeching acquired a strange quality and Annie looked up, only to see the young parents standing at the waterline, frantically waving their arms and shouting. Something else caught her eye and she gasped. There were two small heads bobbing in the water! Frantically she looked around, but there was no lifeguard. _I wish I could swim…if there were ever a time when I could've used the ability, it's now! Those parents need a hero!… _The opal gleamed.

…And suddenly she was stripping off her shorts and tank top, flinging them behind her as she ran for the water and splashed right in. Anita, champion swimmer, didn't even have to think about it; she was operating on pure instinct. She splattered through water up to her knees, then made a shallow dive in and struck out for the two figures caught in the undertow. In a couple of minutes she had caught up with two panicked pre-teen kids who flailed helplessly, screaming whenever they could get their heads above the surface. Anita grasped the girl and yelled, "Hold onto my neck!"

She had to repeat herself a few times before she got through, but at last the girl got a solid grip around Anita's neck. To the boy she shouted, "Hang onto your sister and don't let go!" She made sure the boy was clinging to the girl's shoulders, then struck out for shore, letting the current carry them along till it reached a shallow shelf and she was able to break free. She dragged the kids onto the sand just in time to meet the sobbing parents, who had raced down the beach while she'd swum along with the children. Anita scrounged up an acknowledging smile for the grateful mother and father, only then noticing she had attracted a few spectators—the man with his dogs, a few beachcombers, and Roarke and Leslie.

"Very well done," Roarke complimented her. "Very well done indeed."

"Let us buy you breakfast," the father urged. "It's not enough to thank you for saving Bryce's and Debby's lives, but we insist. Please."

Anita demurred. "Oh, don't think you owe me anything. I'm just glad I was here at the right moment."

"Don't argue," the father said firmly. "We'll have it sent to your bungalow…what's your name? Like I said, it's the least we can do."

Anita shrugged, smiling, and Roarke interjected, "We'll take care of it, Mr. Reichert. I am terribly sorry for the trouble."

"It wasn't your fault, Mr. Roarke," the man said. "I guess we were just very lucky. I'm really grateful, miss. If it weren't for your swimming ability—I've never seen such a strong swimmer before."

"Neither have I," remarked Leslie, a little dryly. And just like that, Anita was back to being Annie, unable to swim a stroke and scared of water deeper than a foot. Fortunately, there was apparently no physical change this time, for which Annie was profoundly grateful as the Reicherts headed back for dry land and her hosts turned to her.

"The choker will work if it's wet, won't it?" Annie asked inanely.

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other and burst out laughing at the same moment, making Annie turn red again. "Obviously it does," Leslie said, "or else you'd have started to drown right alongside those kids as soon as you dove under."

"Right," Annie mumbled, a foolish grin breaking out. "Uh…well…"

"You appear to be handling your fantasy quite nicely, Miss Johnston," Roarke said, seeing her distress. "Perhaps you'd like to join Leslie and me for breakfast. I must say I am very pleased that you utilized your fantasy in this fashion." They headed back down the beach as they spoke, and Annie retrieved her clothes and flip-flops.

She smiled shyly. "That sounds nice. I hope it's okay if I go back to my bungalow and change clothes." Roarke and Leslie laughed again and agreed to see her at the main house in half an hour, then made their way off the beach and towards a jeep that sat a few yards off the sand. Annie struck off for the bungalow, the significance of what she had done only then hitting her. The glow lasted all the way through breakfast and eased her meeting with Roarke's cook, Mariki, whose handiwork Annie liked so much that she made certain she tried at least a little of everything on the menu.

Finally she thanked her hosts and pretended to waddle off the porch, leaving laughter behind her. Her idea from the previous day about trying to grow daffodils came back to her, and she decided to strike out for the shopping district in Amberville and see if someone had some bulbs to sell her. And as it happened, it was a good thing she did.

‡ ‡ ‡

Roarke and Leslie were about to go out onto the porch for lunch when the door flew open and a group of people strode inside, two men and two women. Father and daughter stopped short and watched, the former quizzical and the latter a bit startled, as the newcomers trooped in and paused in a phalanx near the desk. "Are you Roarke?" one of the men demanded imperiously.

"Yes, I am he," said Roarke calmly. "What may I do for you, sir?"

"My name is Jedediah Johnston III, and I'm here to collect my wayward daughter and take her back home. Where is she?"

"Unavailable at the moment, Mr. Johnston, I'm sorry," said Roarke, polite but firm. "Have you just arrived? Perhaps you would prefer to take some time to freshen up. I am sorry that there are currently no bungalows available, but there are vacancies at the hotel."

"The only reason we're here is to get Annie," said the older of the two women, her nose seemingly rising farther into the air as she spoke. "That child has really taken the cake this time. If she hadn't exhibited her usual clumsiness and left a perfect paper trail, we might never have found her."

"This is damned inconvenient, let me tell you," announced the younger man. "We've had to bail Annie out of scrapes before, but this one…I'm still hornswoggled."

While Leslie was absorbing his use of the word and wondering who else on earth ever said that these days, the younger woman added her two cents. "I'm sure she's probably caused plenty of damage—minor stuff, of course, but damage all the same—and if she has, we'll pay for it. But she's got to come home. Honestly, that girl's been an embarrassment to this family almost ever since she was born. I hate to think what she's done now."

With a sniff the older woman put in, "Especially since she's been out of our sight for three entire days. Fourth's campaign is in full swing and he was very fortunate to be able to get away. The same with Leah; she's at a critical moment in her training right now. Jed was about to close a very important takeover deal, and my biggest charity has to have me there for some badly-needed fundraising functions."

"Quite so," blustered the older man. "I ask you again, Roarke, where is she?"

"As I said, she is unavailable at the moment," Roarke said, his voice cooling, though he was ever polite. "If you must see her, then I will send for her, but it will take some time. My advice to you is that you take a room at the hotel and relax. When we have found the young lady, we will notify you promptly."

"Look here, Mr. Roarke—" the older woman began, but her husband put a hand on her arm and shook his head.

"Let be, Dorothy. We don't want to make the man think we're troublemakers; we just want Annie back. And since we know she's on this island, there's no real need to rush. Besides, I could use a little lunch, and the restaurants here have excellent reputations. How about we have a meal and then check back here later?" To Roarke he said, with extra threat that was plainly just for show, "You'll be hearing from us again soon, Roarke, count on it."

"I look forward to it," said Roarke, evoking surprise on Jedediah Johnston's fleshy features before the foursome swept out the door as if they were royalty.

Leslie gave Roarke a very dubious look. "Did that woman just call her son 'Fourth'?" she asked incredulously.

Laughing, Roarke nodded confirmation. "Yes, my dear Leslie, I am afraid she did. It appears that the Johnston family has little imagination when it comes to naming their male offspring." Amidst Leslie's snickered agreement, he said, "We'll have lunch first—at our leisure, I might add—and then, if you would, please, track down Annie Johnston and bring her back with you. Sooner or later the young lady will have to face her family, however distasteful she may find it."

Lunch was fairly substantial and took over an hour, although this wasn't entirely due to design. Their other fantasizing guest appeared about forty-five minutes into the meal and took the extra chair to wail and moan at Roarke about an unexpected and unwieldy twist in his fantasy, requiring both Roarke and Leslie to remain where they were and patiently calm the guy down, help him work through the problem and assure him that if he applied himself, things would work out. By the time they saw him go on his way, almost 90 minutes had passed since they'd first emerged onto the porch. "Yeesh," groaned Leslie. "It's been a long time since we had someone get into such a sticky wicket."

"A what?" Roarke asked, arrested in the process of getting out of his chair, staring at her in surprise.

Leslie grinned. "Something Mom used to say when I was little. As far as I know, it's New England slang."

Roarke laughed and remarked, "Those New England roots of yours are amazingly strong for someone who spent only the first eight years of her life there. Are you finished? If so, you may as well embark upon your search for Annie Johnston."

"Sure, but I feel sorry for her, though. That family of hers…what a bunch of pompous windbags! No wonder poor Annie wanted her fantasy so badly."

"Indeed," said Roarke, smiling. "Good luck, child."

Leslie took a jeep, fairly certain that she was going to have to search a large part of the island before she unearthed Annie; and as it turned out, she was right. Forty minutes after departing the main house, she parked at the amusement park and slipped through the gates with a smile at the admissions attendants. After scanning the lines at a few of the rides, she paused at a kiosk to ask about the day's performance schedule.

"There's only one show today, Miss Leslie, and it's in progress right now," the native girl behind the window told her. "It's at the pavilion—Midnight Sun is performing a special concert there. Just go backstage."

Leslie brightened. "That's right, I'd forgotten! Father and I were supposed to see the group sometime this week anyway—they're here on vacation. Thanks, Inoa." She headed for the pavilion at a fast walk, a little excited herself. Midnight Sun, a four-man group from Norway, was one of the biggest musical acts in the world and was well-established, having first appeared on the scene in the 80s with a smash-hit debut song, "Tell it Straight", that was still a staple on radio. Their music was always fresh and original, keeping them up-to-date with the times, and Leslie and most of her friends had been casual fans for years. So there was little doubt in her mind that that's where she'd find Annie Johnston.

And she did—but in a most unexpected place. _Or maybe not,_ Leslie considered, _under the circumstances._ The security contingent recognized her and let her in, and she found her unobtrusive way onto the end of the front row at the stage. It was a lively show, and there was a good rocker of a song in progress as she paused to scan for Annie. Surprised when she didn't see her in the row of eager fans stretching hands up for a quick touch from the heartthrob of a guitarist, she shifted her attention to the stage and gaped, her hand drifting to her mouth with amazement. Despite herself, she was impressed. There was Annie on stage, her hair in a bouncy ponytail, clad in a green halter-top dress with a long skirt that flared way out whenever she spun on one foot—dancing with the band's lead singer. Leslie had to laugh. _That girl sure knows how to daydream!_ She leaned onto the corner of the stage, moving in time with the music, enjoying herself.

As for Annie, she'd become Annissa—devoted Midnight Sun fan, outgoing and quick to take advantage of lead singer Kåre Braavik's signaled invitation to join him on the stage and dance with him to the song the band was performing. Even in real life, she was a true fan; but never in a million years would plain old Annie Johnston have been chosen to come onstage for a few minutes. In the guise of Annissa—and thanks to her fantasy—she was just about guaranteed her moment of fun with one of her favorite groups. She was having the time of her life, and beamed joyfully when Kåre leaned over and kissed her cheek at the end of the song. "Let's hear it for Annissa, everyone!" he called into the microphone, and an obliging cheer rose out of the gathered crowd. The gorgeous guitarist, Magne Heldt, came over to shake her hand, and the keyboardist and drummer even came out from behind their instruments to acknowledge her. Gaute Kaggestad put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed in friendly fashion, and boisterous drummer Karsten Henning drew her into a full-bodied hug which Annissa returned with equal enthusiasm. "Come backstage after the show and we'll sign some stuff for you," Karsten promised, and she nodded eagerly.

Annissa practically floated off the stage, buoyed by a natural high that seemed to inflate that much more when she spotted Leslie waving at her from the corner of the front row. As soon as Annissa jumped down, she abruptly morphed back into Annie, but the young woman's excitement wasn't dimmed one whit. "Oh, Leslie, did you see me?" she bubbled, bouncing in place. "That's the best time I ever had in my whole life! I just can't thank you and Mr. Roarke enough for granting my fantasy—this never would've happened without it!" Still thrilled, she spontaneously hugged Leslie, who laughed and returned it.

"The show's almost over," Leslie said. "I'll get you backstage and we can wait for the guys to finish and give you their autographs." She simply hated to stick a pin in Annie's balloon of joy; and anyway, she wanted to meet Midnight Sun herself. The Johnstons could wait; Leslie had no problem with letting them cool their heels, either in their hotel room or in her father's study.

Some three-quarters of an hour later, after both Annie and Leslie had talked a bit with the band and collected autographed CDs, Leslie checked her watch and was more than a little startled at the time. "Wow! I'm sorry, guys, I hate to cut and run, but we do have an appointment," she said apologetically. "Listen, if you can, come have dinner with Father and me at the main house sometime this week."

"That sounds wonderful," said Gaute Kaggestad. "I have always heard that this island has some of the best food in the world."

"By all means, bring it on," Magne Heldt agreed, shaking hands with Leslie. "This really is quite a place you have here. And, uh…Annissa?" He gave Annie a slightly wary look. Leslie couldn't blame him; after her retransformation, Annie's ponytail had exploded into dull-blonde frizz and her swirly-skirted dress had become a tank top and a pair of shorts. "It was fun having you onstage."

For her part, Annie knew why he looked like that and smiled sheepishly, turning bright red yet again. _It's my stock reaction to everything,_ she thought with self-disgust. "I had the greatest time ever," she said. "Thanks so much for everything." The group and the women bid one another farewell, and Leslie led Annie out of the backstage waiting room and back into the normal bustle of the surrounding amusement park. Only then did Annie finally venture, "What's the appointment, Leslie?"

Leslie glanced sympathetically at her. "As much as I hate to tell you this, your entire family is here. They insist on seeing you—I think they're planning to pack you up and drag you back home with them."


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- April 12, 1998

Annie stared at her, then groaned in abject despair. "Oh, no!" She fell into a dejected silence till Leslie had gotten the jeep back on the Ring Road toward the other end of the island, then unexpectedly pounded the dashboard with one fist. Leslie flinched slightly in the driver's seat, a little startled. _"Why?_ Why does my rotten, meddling, over-critical family have to stick their big fat schnozzes into everything I do? If I'm ever anything except quiet little Annie, they jump in and muzzle me! I might as well be a dog!"

Leslie grinned at her honest fury. "Why don't you tell them that?" she suggested. "Do you ever say anything when they try to tie you down?"

Annie looked at her as if she'd spoken in Quechua. "Wh…what?" she squeaked.

"Tell them," Leslie urged, glancing frequently back and forth between Annie and the road. "Let them know how you feel. How are you ever going to convince them to let you live your own life if you don't tell them to back off? Have you ever done that before?"

"Oh gosh…no," Annie said, her voice a dazed mumble. "I never even thought about it. They'd probably stomp me flat and then lock me in the wine cellar for the rest of my life."

Leslie's grin graduated into a laugh. "Well, you never know till you try. I can tell you one thing: if you really want them to butt out of your life, you'll have to say so, or you'll never get them off your back." She reached out and patted Annie's arm, then returned her full attention to her driving while Annie sank into a reflective silence, pondering.

By the time Leslie stopped the jeep beside the fountain in front of the main house, Annie had sunk into a blue funk and barely noticed Leslie's concerned glances as the two women crossed the porch. Leslie preceded Annie inside and stepped down from the foyer, where Annie lingered beside the door with her head hanging so that nobody else realized she was there at first. The Johnstons were gathered in the study, the elder ones seated and the younger ones standing behind them with hands planted on hips. Roarke was behind his desk, expressionless, waiting with infinite patience for Dorothy Johnston to run out of steam with her latest rant. As soon as Leslie came in, though, the woman interrupted herself and turned right to her. "And you, young lady, where's that child? Are you hiding her from us?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Johnston," Leslie said and gestured at the foyer, turning as she did so and spotting Annie loitering in the doorway. "Come on in, Annie."

With great and obvious reluctance Annie shuffled forward a few steps and threw Leslie a desperate look. Was there really no way out? But Leslie simply smiled, and Annie knew there wasn't. She thought she saw encouragement in Leslie's eyes and tried to take heart from that. Sighing, she came down the steps.

Immediately her parents, brother and sister started right in on her, all at once; but it was Dorothy who ultimately prevailed. "Annie Jane Johnston, what was the big idea behind all this? Do you realize what an absolute inconvenience this is for us all? Fourth had all he could do to get away from his campaign trip, and Leah needs to be back at the hospital by tonight—_tonight_, do you understand me? Thanks to you, that'll be impossible! You could lose your sister her internship! Your father had to run out of a critical board meeting for his latest takeover…and my charities will simply fall apart, particularly the League for Clean Sidewalks! They have a fundraiser this weekend, and I had to make excuses for you and run out on them just when they needed me the most!"

"Mother's right," said the younger Jedediah Johnston, otherwise known as "Fourth", a solidly built man in his mid-thirties who already sported an impressive pot belly. "You have a real knack for getting us into trouble, Annie. If I lose the election on account of this, I can assure you you'll never hear the end of it from me."

"Same with me if I lose that internship," Leah Johnston barked. "You'll pay for it, Annie, I promise you that. There's no way I can be halfway around the world from here in three hours. What on earth possessed you to come winging all the way out to this little island in the middle of nowhere? What possible reason could you have for being here?"

"Speak up, Annie girl," boomed Jedediah the Third. "This must be the most egregious flight of fancy you've ever undertaken. For that matter…come to think of it, this is Fantasy Island, isn't it?" As he said this he shot Roarke a black look, which Roarke absorbed with no change whatsoever in expression. "How unfortunate: the perfect excuse for a wayward little dreamer to escape into those very daydreams. This does it, Annie girl. I've said for years that you probably need professional help. As soon as we get home, we're going to get the best psychiatrist in the state and straighten you out."

"I concur," Dorothy said snippily. "You spend far too much time using your daydreams to dodge the real world. You need to concentrate on doing something meaningful with your life, Annie. So far it's been nothing but an immense waste."

Annie's face was so red by now that she wasn't quite sure her head wasn't going to burst from all the blood rushing into it. The more they talked, the more they insulted her, and the angrier she got. All her life they had been doing this to her, and all her life she'd let them. Leslie was right, she realized; it had to stop somewhere, and it never would unless she herself stopped it. What, she wondered, would Queen Elizabeth I have done with this motley crew she had to call family? She began to gear up for a truly royal rage the like of which she hoped even Roarke had never witnessed. "Off with their heads," she muttered, boiling, not realizing she'd said it aloud. None of her family heard it, but Leslie did and mouthed _uh-oh!_ at Roarke, making him smile ever so slightly.

"Isn't that the truth, Mother," Leah said, rolling her eyes. "I still can't believe my dance teacher let her stay that entire first class before he kicked her out. The kid's never found one single thing she was ever any good at. Why on earth did you even have her in the first place? There's just nothing she can do except get in everyone's way."

Fourth harrumphed, "She even botched up handing out campaign flyers!"

And out of the blue, Annie snapped. _"SHUT UP!"_ she screamed, startling even Roarke. The Johnstons all snapped to attention, eyes popping, jaws dangling, torsos freezing. Leslie hopped back a step, then began to grin as Annie raged. "Every single one of you, shut your traps! It's all _your_ fault I came here to begin with, you know that? You and your relentless talent and your never-ending perfection—and the criticism! All my life you've all torn my ego to shreds and couldn't care less! 'Annie's no good at this' and 'Annie's a complete failure at that', and 'Annie's worthless' and 'Annie's a screwup'…" She zeroed in on Leah, and her voice got even louder, carrying right out of the house and across the terrace out back. "And you asking why I was even born—that's the ugliest, nastiest, cruelest thing you or anyone else has ever said about me! I hope you're proud of yourself, Leah Loretta Johnston! And good old Fourth, running for governor and strutting around like some self-important peacock, magnanimously giving me, the family mental case, the most menial job you could find, thinking maybe I wouldn't screw it up…and when I did, you got all huffy and self-righteous, announcing to everyone in sight that that stupid Annie messed up again!"

"Good heavens," bleated Dorothy Johnston, her hand fluttering over her heart.

"Oh, bag it, Mother. If the Clean Gutter League has to do without you, don't blame it on me…" Annie began.

"Clean Sidewalks," Dorothy corrected automatically.

"Whatever," Annie roared. "You and Dad are even worse than Leah and Fourth, and that's what really tees me off. You were supposed to help me eventually find something I could at least be competent with, if not actually good at. But no—I was just the family embarrassment. Where were you when I needed you, Mother? Oh, yeah, stumping for your precious charities. After all, they were a heck of a lot less of a trial to you than I was.

"And you, Dad, carrying on ever since I was a teenager about what a space case I am and how you really ought to get me a shrink to bring my head out of the clouds." Annie's voice dripped sarcasm. "Gee, thanks for your undying support and love, Daddy dear. Poor little Annie, so lost in that silly, empty head of hers that she needs a heavy-duty professional to bring her back to earth. Well, for your information, I'm as level-headed as any of you, no matter what you believe! I do have a brain, just so you know, and I do use it—but you want to know something? I daydream so I can escape from you!"

"Us?" said Fourth dumbly.

"Yeah, you! Every day I wish I was even half as good at one thing as you think you all are at everything. But it was always just a lot of smoke, and when I came back to reality nothing had really happened and I was still just mousy, mortifying old Annie. Mr. Roarke understood and gave me the chance to try really being some of those graceful, talented people I wished I could be. Maybe if you'd chosen a better moment to drop in and rain on my parade, you'd have seen some of those wonderful people. Maybe you'd have watched Annalyn the singer win the karaoke contest last night. Maybe you'd have seen beautiful Anne-Marie surrounded by admiring guys. Maybe you'd even have watched Anita, the champion swimmer, rescue two kids out of the undertow this morning!" Leah's face went slack with astonishment, but Annie didn't notice. "But no—you show up when I've already been all I could be and just start right in on the same old rigmarole again. I've had it right up to here with all four of you. Get out of here and leave me alone! I'll come home when I'm good and ready, and not one of you can do the slightest thing about it! GET OUT!"

The other Johnstons watched, blasted into immobility and completely dumbfounded, as Annie ran out of fuel at last and wilted into tears, exhausted and drained. Leslie moved to her side and put a protective arm around her shoulders; Roarke rose and approached Annie as her family wandered dazedly out through the French doors.

"You have a great deal of courage and resolve," he said and gently grasped Annie's arm, making the distraught young woman look up. "You've stood up for yourself, and you didn't need the choker to do it."

Annie stared at him, tears surprised away. "But…that whole time, I was Queen Anne, getting ready to condemn some of her most annoying subjects to the guillotine," she admitted, evoking chuckles from Roarke and Leslie. "I wasn't me."

"Oh, indeed you were," Roarke assured her warmly. "You see, Miss Johnston, as soon as you stepped into the house, your fantasy came to an end." He reached behind her neck and removed the choker. "You confronted your family as Annie Johnston—and believe me, that's the only way to do it."

"And you did it with style, too," said someone else, making them all turn to behold Randall Heidema entering the study with an admiring grin. "I saw the whole thing. I mean, holy towering rages, Batman…that was great." He stopped a few feet away and clapped, making Annie blush and grin. "Now I understand why you seemed to keep changing looks all weekend long. But gosh, Annie, I like _you_—especially now that you've told your family where to get off. I ought to take a lesson from you." He reached out to grasp Annie's hands; she stared at him in wonder, came forward to meet him and happily accepted his tentative embrace. Smiling broadly, Randall tightened his hold on her.

"Randall? Randall!" The name's owner winced and squeezed his eyes closed as a little old gray-haired lady trundled through the French shutters, tugging two bewildered native men along with her. "I found…why, what's this?"

"Perhaps it's time to put that lesson to use, Mr. Heidema," Roarke said whimsically.

Randall tossed him a sheepish look. "Put up or shut up, huh?" he said, and Roarke nodded in amusement. Annie peeked over Randall's shoulder and blinked.

"Who's that?" she asked, _sotto voce_.

Randall squeezed her in lieu of a reply and addressed the old lady instead. "Aunt Beryl, you can stop trying to set me up," he said firmly. "There's no point in it anymore. I finally found someone I really want to get to know better."

Aunt Beryl seemed befuddled. "But Randall dear…"

Randall sighed, shot his confused audience a deeply embarrassed look and said painfully, "Aunt Beryl, for the last time, I'm straight. Get it? I like girls."

The room grew so still that everyone could hear their own breathing. The native men grew florid with mortification and instantly disappeared as fast as their feet would carry them out. A peafowl bawled somewhere in the distance, making them start.

"Oh dear," Aunt Beryl said in a very small voice.

Annie let out an undignified snort and buried her head in Randall's shoulder, shaking with pent-up giggles. Leslie violently compressed her lips in a desperate attempt to dam up her own mirth, and even Randall began to grin, albeit reluctantly. Roarke managed to hold his own composure, but his dark eyes sparkled with merriment. "An honest mistake, Ms. Heidema," he consoled the old lady. "But isn't it reassuring to know that Randall has found someone he can truly connect with, all on his own—no matter who it is?"

Aunt Beryl lit up. "Oh, yes indeedie, Mr. Roarke," she said eagerly. "My stars, you have no idea how relieved I am that my dear nephew has discovered a soul mate. I mean, if he actually _were_ gay, it made no difference at all to me. I simply think he'd be happier if he had someone to love, so I tried to help him. I suppose I should have listened to him a little more closely, but I just wanted him to be happy, you know?"

"Of course, of course," Roarke agreed, nodding.

Aunt Beryl sighed contentedly and said, "Well, thank goodness he did find someone, male or female. Now I can go out and hunt up a man for _me."_ So saying, she swept grandly out of the study, freeing them all to break down into helpless laughter.


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- April 13, 1998

It was a very happy Annie Johnston who alighted from the car the following morning, with Randall Heidema beside her. In the next car were the other Johnstons, still distinctly subdued, but much more gracious. In fact, Fourth said to Roarke in confidence, "I think I was secretly waiting for Annie to give us hell, you know? I never thought it'd happen, but I'm glad it finally did. We deserved it."

Annie overheard. "You sure did," she said tartly, but they all laughed, and one by one the Johnstons shook hands with Roarke and Leslie and headed for the plane. Once they were gone, she beamed at Randall. "You know something? We were out at dinner last evening, just the two of us, and Mother and Dad came into the restaurant and started giving him the third degree. He answered their questions politely, but when they started getting personal, he stood right up to them and told them to back off. Now here's a guy who's got a lot to teach me—and it's really encouraging to know he's on my side."

"Yeah, well…" Randall said, shrugging uncomfortably. "I'm not so sure I was as tactful as I could've been. At least, not with your brother and sister."

"Why?" Leslie asked with interest.

Randall turned red, but Annie grinned. "Leah wanted to know what he does for a living, and Randall said he's a firefighter. Then she started carrying on about how she thinks it takes them too long to rescue burn victims and it's left to the doctors to patch them up, and he told her she was perfectly welcome to run into the next burning house and rescue them herself, since she thought the firefighters weren't very good at it. That shut her up." She giggled and wrapped her arms around Randall from one side.

"It gets worse," Randall confessed, staring resignedly skyward. "Her brother actually asked us when we were planning on having kids, and we just stared at him. He pressed his advantage and said he might be willing to smooth a boy's way into college or something, if we gave him the right name. And I just got fed up…so I told him, 'Not if it means we have to call him Fifth.' "

Roarke and Leslie burst out laughing and shook hands with Annie and Randall, wishing them good luck, and watched them stroll to the plane dock each with an arm wrapped securely around the other. "I think that girl's gonna be all right," Leslie said cheerfully. "And I'm really glad."

"Quite so," said Roarke, still chuckling. "It just goes to show that it's best to be yourself: there will always be someone out there who responds positively to that." They waved at Randall and Annie one last time, then smiled at each other with satisfaction.


End file.
